Master, Master
by Muuno
Summary: Kaito loves his Master. To watch him, to sing for him—such, he thinks, is his future as a computer program. Until, by accident, he accomplishes one thing he thought impossible: he initiates a Skype conversation with him.
1. KAITO: 731

_Howdy, everyone! ^_^_

_This is the first chapter of a longer fic tracing the relationship between Kaito and his Master. So, of course, the pairing would be Master x Kaito. What do you think? _

_Glossary of Japanese terms:_

_Nii-san = older brother._

_Arigato = thank you._

_Owari = the end._

_Mou = an expression of annoyance._

_Akai = red._

Master, Master

**VOCALOID: KAITO**

**LOG ENTRY: 731**

**CREATED: 21.09.10**

His name is chiaki.

My Master's name.

chiaki. This is how he always spells it, all romaji, all lower case; if someone writes "Chiaki," with a capital C, he will correct them. My Master rarely uses capital letters.

None of the others knows this. Only I. As far as I'm aware, he only uses his real name on the university's website—WebU, as they call it. His account is password-protected.

I'm not the only Vocaloid who can surf the Internet, of course, but I think I'm the only one who knows how to coax the web into decoding its secrets for me. I learned. For Master's sake.

And for me as well, I guess, for my own peace of mind. I never could get used to it, how he would simply type his way past that encrypted log-in page and drop out of my sight. What he was doing beyond it, I couldn't tell. It bothered me so much, not knowing. I don't know why—logically, it shouldn't. But it did.

For the past week, that website has been such a nightmare to me. But, today, I cracked it open.

Patience and hard work and patience until it finally came undone. Master is a third-year Literature major. He is taking "Writing of the Short Story," "Major Authors of the Twentieth Century," "The Portrayal of Race in Children's Literature," and "Writing for Children: the Novel." He has a GPA of 3.6 / 4. I'm very proud of him.

Decoding WebU took me some two hours. Calling up and surveying Master's profile, another two. I didn't intend on lingering there for so long. I was surprised to find I'd lost track of time—but the precious information I've copied into my data bank is the reward of all my efforts—and a lovely reward it is! Now I can follow Master into WebU whenever he enters it. I want to keep my records of his online activity up to date. I want to know what he does when he's not with us.

My absence didn't go unnoticed, though:

"Kaito," Miku said, pouting, when I logged off WebU and returned to the non-space in my Master's hard drive we Vocaloids inhabit. "What have you been doing all day? You know I can't rehearse without you. Honestly, you!"

I smiled apologetically. I truly had forgotten about today's rehearsal. "I'm so sorry, Miku. We can practice now, if you'd like."

She grew hopeful. "Really?" But she must've decided she was still angry with me. "Well, I don't know. Maybe I'm not ready, you know. I warmed up so long ago. I'd have to do it again."

"Do it again for me, please," I said.

And she forgave me. "Okay. Give me a sec—wait here. Don't go away again!"

"All right, all right," I said, smiling still as she scampered off to her folder.

_Thank you, Miku, _I was thinking. _Thank you for not asking where I was while I was gone. I would've had to lie to you. I hate lying to you._

The others don't know Master's real name. They don't know he's a student at RVU; they don't know that it's only a twenty-three-minute walk away from our address (approx.), or that he takes all his courses between 10 am and 3:30 pm.

No, they don't know—and they never _will _know. Master's data belongs to me. Only I need it; only I earned it. Only I.

/ / / / /

My Master has a blog that only his friends can read, his friends and I. That one was easier to access; Master uses the same password for all his online accounts. It's a bad habit of his, but I can never stay mad at him for being so careless. I just love some of the things he writes:

_wednesday, may 5, 2010._

_6:47 pm_

_hey all. i know, i should be working on term paper since it's due in a week (it totally snuck up on me). but! there'd be no cool, super special post for you right now if term papers were actually meant to be taken seriously, so thank my procrastination for this fit of creativity. ;D yet another children's story. yes, yes, 'we know, chiroi, you're completely obsessed with stories for kids' is what you're probably thinking. like you didn't cry watching 'bambi'! i know i did. xD _

_kay, so enjoy and tell me what you think!_

_.-.-.-._

_the story of the white bird with blue hair_

_so. once upon a time, there was this bird. this white bird. he wasn't as white as paper, or white as a blank page in a word processor, but he was white enough that you wouldn't say that he was gray. there have been plenty of white birds before, i know, but that didn't bother him at all. he was sure he was special, because he had blue hair. oh did he love his hair. it was just so lovely. and blue._

_one day he was flying. this bird liked to sing a lot, so he sang while he was flying, until he met another bird. the other bird was naked._

_'oh, no,' white bird said. 'what happened to you? why are you naked?'_

_naked bird sniffled. 'they plucked me, nii-san. i don't know why, like, i hadn't done anything to them. but they plucked me.'_

_so plucked bird cried. most people say birds can't cry, but they can, they just act tough all the time unless when they're alone with other birds. he shivered, too, it was so cold. white bird hugged him, splaying his wings over him to protect him for the wind, but he knew they couldn't stay like that forever, so he thought and thought. suddenly the breeze blew one of his long blue locks into his face,_

_and he knew!_

_'listen,' he told plucked bird, 'take my hair. it's so much, we can make you a scarf with it. hehe! a hairy scarf, but it'll keep you warm.'_

_'are you sure, nii-san?' said plucked bird. 'but, your hair! it's so pretty.'_

_'that's why you should hurry,' said white bird. 'here, pluck it off with your beak before i change my mind and don't want to give it to you anymore.'_

_so plucked bird pulled out white bird's hairs one by one, carefully so that they wouldn't get blown away in the wind. together, they made plucked bird a scarf and then he wasn't that cold anymore._

_'arigatou, nii-san,' said plucked bird, 'really.'_

_'yeah,' said white bird, trying to ignore the cold air on his bald head. 'don't mention it.'_

_'i'm sorry i took all your hair.'_

_'it'll grow back,' he told himself._

_white bird still hurt from all the plucking, so he didn't sing on his way back home. later he saw himself in the mirror and he was in a bad mood that day, but his pretty blue hair did grow back. plucked bird's feathers grew back, too, one day, but he kept his scarf on until he gave it to another bird that had also been plucked, and so on and so on. by now that scarf has travelled more than you or i or anybody else in the world._

_o w a r i_

That was what Master wrote, exactly how he wrote it. It's an adorable story. I wonder if Master can tell it word for word, like I can.

Unfortunately, these thoughts of him have a way of coming to me when I least expect it. Today, I was recalling that story at the worst possible time.

"Kaito!" Miku whined. She startled me.

"Ah?" I said. (It was all I could say.)

"Mou—what're you spacing out for?" She scowled. "You were supposed to sing your verse."

"My verse." I had to scan my short-term memory. "Oh—my verse—I'm sorry! Let's try again."

"No." The background music had stopped—I hadn't noticed.

She crossed her arms. She seemed—a bit annoyed, yes, but also worried. Worried for the most part. "Are you okay?" she said. "It kind of looks like something's bothering you." She brightened a bit, as though she'd found her answer. "Are you hungry? Do you want some ice cream?"

I laughed and shook my head. "No, thank you."

She blinked. Surprised.

"I mean—I do," I said. "Of course! Ice cream would be nice. But first I wanted to tell you I'm fine. There's nothing bothering me. It's just something that you sang—well—reminded me of something else."

"Hm?" She tilted her head to the side.

"Well—" What to say? To appease her and yet protect Master's info. "You sang, _little blue canary was little and blue._"

I sang the line in the same high pitch of her voice, so she giggled.

"And I just—remember that picture Master posted on devART?" I went on. We all had access to his deviantART profile, so it was safe to mention. "The baby bird. The one you liked so much."

She touched her fingertip to her lips, looking up at the cloud-streaked, blue sky we had generated for today.

"Mhmm." She nodded.

"That's what I was thinking about."

"Really?"

"Yes," I lied, half-lied. "I was thinking, Master really likes birds, doesn't he?"

"Ah—" Miku grinned. "He does! That's so cute."

I laughed, much more sincerely than before. I thought, _Yes,_ _it's cute. Master loves winged things. Especially small winged things. He loves to draw me as a bird, too. I can tell when it's me—the Kaito birds are white and they have scarves, and their hair looks just like mine. He must think of me so often!_ That idea—I couldn't help it—it made me blush.

"Aw, Kaito!" Miku giggled. "You turned all red! We'll have to call you Akaito now."

I cupped my burning face with my hands. How embarrassing, but I was happy. "Miku, I love Master."

"Well, duh," she said. "I love him, too. We all do."

/ / / / /

She loves him, too.

We all do.

That's what she said. Yes, it was true enough; we all love him, I'm sure, as we should. That's normal. It shouldn't bother me. It has never bothered me before. All the same, that statement quickly deleted some of my excessive glee. I even had an urge to reply—what? what for?

I don't know. How silly of me. I chose to chuckle—she'd said it innocently, after all. She didn't mean anything by it.


	2. KAITO: 732

_Just a quick note before we start: the Kagamine siblings, Lin and Len, are often said to possess a road roller that Lin likes to utilize to terrorize people. ^_^ The Lin in my story, the violent but paradoxically loving sort, has one such contraption._

_Enjoy. :3_

* * *

**VOCALOID: KAITO**

**LOG ENTRY: 732**

**CREATED: 22.09.10**

My Master is 22 years old.

His birthday is on January 16th.

His favorite color is orange.

His least favorite color is gray (although he isn't certain whether gray is a color).

I learned about his age and birthday from WebU. I've inferred the color information from his art and his blog entries.

I know I don't need to repeat these facts here—I've already recorded them elsewhere in my data bank—but today has been a long day. Master didn't use his computer at all.

It's another bad habit of his that he never turns it off. He only closes it, sometimes, and puts it to sleep. We who live in his hard drive usually sleep as well when this happens; there isn't much else to do. Everything around us shuts down while his computer is on stand-by. Utter darkness. I can't see my own hands right now, or any other part of my body.

But I feel too restless to hibernate. To "power-nap," as Len calls it.

I think I will create a log entry for today, to pass the time, even though there's nothing to register.

I shall write about my Master.

I am the first he ever had. His first Vocaloid. I didn't know how to sing back then, and he didn't know how to command my voice, but we practiced every night and so we learned. Then he installed the others: first Meiko, then Miku, and Lin and Len, and then Luka and Gakupo.

Oh—they were all so puzzled on their first day here! I remember that. But everyone is so different.

For example, Meiko.

Master came home one evening and opened his computer (note: "opened," not "turned on"). This was before I developed the habit of watching him while he worked, so I awoke from my hibernation and was glad to see him again, but didn't care to see what he would do today. I was content to float in the blankness of my folder. I did not even open my eyes.

But I was very much interested when another folder, as if from nowhere, appeared next to mine.

"Master?" I asked. Though I knew he could not hear me.

He ran the "VOCALOID Editor" immediately. I felt the tug of that irresistible force that always pulls me away from wherever I am and whatever I am doing and found myself in that familiar space—non-space—the "Stage." Where we sing for him—that's what we call it.

Until then I'd always been alone, hovering in that white, floorless, ceilingless room, reading Master's instructions as he—as the "Editor" application—wrote them on the wall. But that day, there was a woman in red next to me.

We looked at each other, shocked. She said nothing to me. I said nothing to her. What is one to say at a time like that?

Master made us sing together. He gave us his words and we dueted for him. She sounded, perhaps, a little strange, as he was not used to her yet, but I enjoyed it. Especially once we'd both relaxed.

When we finished, she smiled at me. Rather, she smirked with a hand on her hip.

"Well sung, man," she said. "That was fun. So who the hell are you?"

"Ah—well sung!" I said (unsure how else to reply). "It's—it's a pleasure meeting you! My name is Kaito."

"Kaito, huh?" she said. "Well, I'm Meiko. Just like that—just Meiko. Call me Meiko-san or Meiko-chan and I'll break that pretty face of yours. Got it?"

I laughed. Nervously, I admit. She sounded as though she meant it. (Now I know that she did.) "Of—of course!"

She clapped me in the back. It rather stung. "You sound like a good man, you. I like you. So, what does a girl have to do to get some booze around here?"

I blinked. "Booze?"

"You heard me," she said. "I haven't had some in a _while_. I'm thirsty. So where is it?"

"Um—" I had no idea. I had never needed alcohol before. Whenever I wanted to eat something, ice cream had always been enough—Google-sensei had taught me how to program it. Perhaps I could learn to _make_ alcohol in the same way?

"Well," I said, "I can program some for you if you'd like."

"Sounds good," she said. "Just so you know, Daiginjo's my favorite kind."

It is. She's had me program her weekly stock of it ever since.

/ / / / /

And, then, take Miku.

Meiko and I were chatting when she arrived, a few months later. Meiko can be a tad… explosive, but she talks to me so often that I think she enjoys my company.

"Seriously, man!" she was saying. "He's just so hard to please!"

We were discussing a song that we were recording around that time. Attempting to record. Master had seemingly given up on it for the time being and he'd gone outside a while ago.

We were in her folder. Hers looks rather stylish, unlike mine; she had made it into a large room with a chequered floor, a bed with a sleek steel frame and a matching blood-red chair shaped like a crescent moon. Her walls were covered with screenshots that she had taken of us singing together.

"He can be, yes," I said.

She rocked in her chair, her arms folded in displeasure, one leg draped peevishly over the other. I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her.

"I just don't see what he's so fussy about," she said. "He keeps making us start over like we don't know what we're doing. And where does he get off trying to make me sound like a _schoolgirl_? Well, that's a pretty bright fucking idea. Do I look like a schoolgirl to you?"

I had to laugh at the notion of Meiko masquerading as one. I shook my head.

"A fucking chipmunk, man, that's what he wants," she muttered. "You know what he _needs_? A punch in the gut."

"Aren't you perhaps being too harsh?"

"Harsh my ass. I don't know how you can be so patient." She sent me a dubious glance. "I bet you're pissed off at him, too, and you just won't let it show."

I smiled. "I have a hard time being angry with Master," I confessed. "I think I'm not much one for anger in general."

She scoffed. I don't know what she meant by that. But it was then that a sudden hum of activity told us that Master had come back—and had just inserted a CD. Invisible, a ripple of information made my skin tingle and I shivered. Something—someone—was being installed.

Meiko sensed it, too. We rose to our feet and ran out into the endless, blank plain that is Master's desktop. As we suspected—a new folder had appeared beside hers.

Master ran the "Editor." Meiko and I stood on the Stage, next to—

A schoolgirl.

_Oh, _I thought. Meiko burst out laughing. The poor girl was confused—her green eyebrows furrowed. Green eyes. Green ponytails.

Master made us try the new song again. This time, he assigned the highest-pitched parts to her, and allowed Meiko and I to share the lower notes. It was a vast improvement, I have to say.

"All right!" Meiko crowed, when he was more or less satisfied and he'd left us alone. "That was pretty good!" Her hand descended on Miku's shoulder and Miku gave a start. "Not bad at all for a newbie. What's your name, kid?"

"Um—" Recovering, she smiled her brightest. "I'm Hatsune Miku! That was so much fun, wasn't it? And who're you guys?"

"I'm Meiko." She thumped her fist on her chest. "And this guy here is Kaito."

"Hello." I waved.

Miku giggled and waved back. "Hi."

"Eh, she's a cutie, ain't she?" Meiko said, stabbing my ribs with her elbow. "Well met, well met. It's a good thing you're here, kid—'twas about time Master got himself someone else to squeal out those high notes. If he ever makes me sing like that again, I'm gonna blow up his fucking hard drive."

/ / / / /

So quite a bit different from each other, those girls. Miku is milder than Meiko. Well—most of us are, I think. Except, perhaps, Lin.

To illustrate what I mean: one day, she ran Len over with that roadroller of hers. Len's screams carried over to us—Meiko and I—while Lin pursued him across Master's desktop. We were attempting to practice one of our duets:

"_The tears that run down my cheeks,_" we sang.

"NO! LIN! PLEASE! I'M SORRY!"

"_Hiding the heartbeats of my sorrow—_"

"I'M SORRY! I SAID I'M SORRY!"

"_Last night, good night—_"

"GYAA**AAAAH**—"

"Okay, that's enough," Meiko said. She rose from her chair, strode out into the desktop. I followed her in time to see Len gored rather badly, Lin turning her roadroller around with an impish grin on her face. Miku was already collecting Len's flattened pieces to put him back together.

"You! Kid!" Meiko yelled.

That got Lin's attention.

"We're trying to practice here," Meiko said. "Get off that thing or drive it somewhere else."

Lin seemed to consider. She smirked. Turned her roller in our direction.

"Don't try it, kid," Meiko warned.

"Wryyyyn!" Lin cried, her fearsome battle cry. The roller charged full-speed against us. I scurried out of its path—while Meiko sprang _toward _the thing. One mighty leap, and she landed on the passenger seat and punched Lin in the face.

I _think_ that's what she did. It all happened so fast. All I know with any certainty is that Meiko pounced and then Lin was unconscious on the floor. I hurried over to her to make sure she was fine.

Meiko neglected to turn off the roadroller's engine; she merely hopped off it, straightened up, tucked her hair triumphantly behind her ear, letting the roller drive on and on and on, all by itself. To disappear into infinite cyberspace, I hoped.

Maybe Lin _is_ milder than Meiko, after all.

/ / / / /

Oh, but this entry isn't supposed to be about my family! It's about my Master. What was I saying about him? Ah—that he had me and then he installed the others. Still, no one can quite substitute my voice in his opinion. I'm sure of that. There isn't a song in his collection that doesn't have me in it.

I think I know when I first noticed him.

And I mean, _noticed_ him in a certain particular special way. More than before. I mean—oh, I feel so inarticulate. I mean I think I know when he stopped being simply my Master, simply someone who sings with my voice. And became… something else.

It was 6:36 in the morning. February 4th, 2009. It had been a particularly difficult night. We were the only ones awake. Attempting to record a ballad he'd composed for me.

He sat still as a .jpg file. His brow furrowed, his knuckles pressed against his lips. His usual deeply thoughtful pose. He often sits like that for hours on end, frowning at the screen when he can't seem to find the right melody—but he very rarely looks as tired as he did that night. His eyes had sunk back into their sockets a little. Also, his beautiful brown hair is just _that_ particular length—short, so he can't tie it back in a ponytail, but just long enough that it keeps falling over his eyes, tickling the tip of his nose. Around 5:00 am, he had abandoned the hope of tucking it behind his ears and somehow keeping it in place, so that made the shadows beneath his eyes appear darker than usual.

So unnerving. Singing for a person while he's looking like that.

_But this is Master's focused face, _I reminded myself._ His overworked face. A mix between the two. _He would look much different, probably, if he could see me. If he knew that I could see him.

Still, as he typed and clicked his last instructions—as I, alone on the Stage, read them off the interface wall between us, I was mightily and irrationally nervous. Knowing that from the first syllable, he would scrutinize the sound of every word I uttered.

Yes, nervous. And, also…

Oh, I can't name it. I can only try to explain it to myself. That song that we'd worked on for twenty-two hours straight seemed to have become so important to us. We'd put so much effort into it. No—it's not only that. To have him sitting there, for so long, his bleary eyes fixed on the words he had written for me… To have him listen to me with his complete, his unwavering, total attention.

It made me feel…

I don't know.

So, at 6:36 am with 42 seconds, he pressed "Play" and, though I was nervous and I don't know what, I sang for him. With my heart.

I know I don't have such an organ, such a muscle. But at that moment I managed to fool myself into believing that I did. It changed the sound of the song, somehow. My Master's scowl came undone; his thin, black eyebrows rose. He was surprised.

Naturally, his first thought must have been to think that an error had occurred. His cursor hovered to the "Stop" button—but he didn't press it. He waited. And listened.

Did he like what he was hearing? When I was done, he was silent and I waited for his answer. Inwardly, I apologized for altering his design. I told myself I'd filter my emotions out of my voice and retry, if he wanted me to.

But, at long last, he smiled.

"Hmm," he grunted.

He leaned back in his chair. Melted out of his rigidly focused posture. He clicked "Loop," "Play." Closed his eyes, folded his arms over his narrow chest.

He was pleased.

Exhausted, too—he was fast asleep four minutes later, his head tilting forward, his chin upon his chest. But I repeated our song for him, as he'd wanted. Some twenty-nine times.

At 8:33 am, I heard his door open; his mother must have come in. Of course, she found him in his chair, sleeping in the same jeans and sweatshirt he had been wearing the day before. She came to the computer and stopped me.

"Chiaki," she said wearily, "wake up. You've been playing with that thing all night again, haven't you?"

My Master groaned. A low, pained, drawn-out groan. His neck must hurt terribly.

"Go wash your face and get dressed," she went on. "Please try not to be so irresponsible."

She didn't wait for him to answer; she left. I've never heard my Master speak to her. When he stretched, his back cracked loud enough that even I heard it. He moaned in agony and I sighed. His mother was right; it was silly of me to let him doze off—I _should_ have increased my volume, woken him up so that he would not slouch like that for two hours. My careless Master. Falling asleep in such terrible positions.

/ / / / /

But I think that was it. When I started thinking of him.

It's not that I didn't care about him before. There were just so many other things on my mind. My music. Vibrato, how should I go about it? Falsetto, so difficult. The others' music—_Ah, the twins can make their voices sound almost identical if they want to, _I thought. _And then they can be wildly different! Is that why they have so much fun practicing together?_

Ice cream.

Oh—_that's _why Miku asked me if I wanted some yesterday! I used to love it so much. I still do. I wish I could eat some with her. Shall I wake her up?

No. No, she's asleep in her folder. I don't want to disturb her.

I don't like sitting in this darkness by myself. I become so sluggish when Master has his computer on stand-by. My scarf feels heavy. My coat feels heavy. I don't think I'm meant to be awake at this time, but I've closed my eyes and I can't sleep.

I will hum to myself until Master comes back.


	3. KAITO: 733, 734, 735, 736

_A/N: Cuz everybody wants to read some author's notes before we start. ;D_

_Blah blah blah. Blah._

_Enjoy! _

* * *

**VOCALOID: KAITO**

**LOG ENTRY: 733**

**CREATED: 24.09.10**

Two days. My Master's computer still closed, on stand-by. And for us, heaviness, and sluggishness, and darkness.

I'm at work on my log again because I can't hum anymore. It's not that I don't want to— humming helps me relax because I can push my Master to the back of my mind and only think about the tune. But, finally, everyone's had enough of hibernating. They're all awake now, so we have to share whatever little processing capacity there's available among all of us. As a result, we all move s/l/o/w/l/y_, _like we're wading through thick data.

Lin punched her brother in a fit of frustration, a moment ago. Her fist took approximately two minutes to connect with him. The rest of us froze in the meantime.

"Knock it off," Len muttered.

His words came one little packet of sound at a time. Each separated by about two seconds' silence. "Kn." "o." "ock." "it." "o." "of." "f."

I tried to speak to him, and only heard my voice a minute later. Hyper-compressed. "TrytobepatientLen," in less than a second.

"Wh." "at?" he said.

"Tr." "ry." "y." "to." "be." "pa." "a." "ti—"

"D." "u." "de." "nevermind."

So we try not to talk much.

* * *

**VOCALOID: KAITO**

**LOG ENTRY: 734**

**CREATED: 25.09.10**

Three days.

We've been sitting here in my Master's desktop for— half a week now. I think. That's what my internal timer tells me. I feel like an age has gone by since I last saw him. Since I last saw _anyone_, though I can hear them close to me.

There's a sort of contract going on among us. Every now and then, someone gets to stand up and pace for a few minutes. It's a mild enough thing to do, pacing, so it only makes us lag; we don't freeze. But it has to be only one person at a time. We take turns.

My scarf rustles lightly against my cheeks. Miku has one end of it in her hands and she's tugging on it gently, fiddling with it to ease her anxiety. She has never liked the dark. She's lying next to me, her head propped on my thigh. I run my fingers through her hair to remind her that I'm here with her.

"I can't believe that man," Meiko says.

We can only talk when no one's pacing (we learned that after freezing for half an hour). Now we're used to having conversations in broken or compressed words; we just piece all the sounds together. Decompress in our minds. An hour spent talking is better than an hour doing nothing.

"He went away and left us here to rot," she fumes. "The bastard."

"I'm sure that wasn't quite his intention, Meiko-dono," Gakupo says. Tranquil as ever. "If he knew we are a living presence here in his hard drive, he might've had the courtesy to shut us down before leaving."

"Isn't there some way we can tell him we're here?" Miku says.

"Yeah," Len says. "Because honestly this is pretty gay."

No one answers. I think they're all turning Miku's question over in their minds, but I don't like the way he's used that word, "gay." Like it means "bad" or "horrible." Maybe I'm just not feeling well. He didn't mean anything by it.

"Hmm. I _do_ wonder," Gakupo says. "I've always had this idea that it's impossible. But how so?"

"You would know if you'd cared to look up how we work," Luka says next to me. "Vocaloid software can't communicate with its user except through the 'VOCALOID Editor' application, and only to execute the user's instructions. Any other response will cause the computer to crash, which is always a thing we want to avoid. We can't establish contact with him aside from that."

"Ah, Luka-dono," Gakupo says. Only slightly reproachful, very subtly. He always tries to be kind to her, though she likes to speak so curtly to him for some reason I can't understand. "That's a very direct way to put it."

"So, either we sing the words he puts in our mouths or he doesn't hear us at all," Meiko says. "Heh. Some Master we have."

"It's not his fault," I say.

"Well, it's not _my_ fault, either," Lin says.

"But, guys, even if he doesn't know us," Len says. "Right, so let's say he has _no_ idea we exist. Okay. Anyway, he's still not supposed to treat his computer like that. You don't just close it and go away for a hundred years. You don't do that_._"

"I don't think he's aware we're on stand-by, Len," I sigh. "He's a little careless."

"A little?" Meiko says.

"Indeed," says Gakupo, pensively. "He's a fairly new acquaintance of mine, so I can't assess whether he's neglectful or no. But you're the one who has known him longest, aren't you, Kaito-dono? Has he ever done something like this before?"

"No." I don't understand. I don't like this feeling, not understanding. "Not that I can remember."

"If he's not back by next week," Len says, "I'm just gonna assume he's dead somewhere."

"Len," Miku protests.

"What?"

"Don't say that." It sounds like an order— I didn't mean it like that. "Please?" I add.

"Jeez, fine," he says. "It was a joke."

"Not_funny .gif," Lin says.

"Don't_care .avi," he says.

An argument breaks out for a silly reason. My head hurts— not because I'd like them to stop— I know the twins quarrel to vent their stress, and to pass the time, and to show their love for each other (if that makes sense). No, what bothers me is—

"Kaito?" Miku says. Very, very quietly— I can barely hear her. I don't think anyone else can.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Do you think…" She hesitates. "Do you think Master's got himself a new computer?"

I pause, surprised. I process.

"That'd explain why you've never seen him do this before," she says. "You've always lived in just this computer, right? What if he moved to a new one and—?"

She tugs harder on my scarf, perhaps without realizing it. She trails off. She doesn't want to worry the others, but I see what she means and my stomach tightens with dread for an instant— but only an instant.

"No," I tell her, "don't worry about that, Miku— he wouldn't leave us here like this. When my Master buys a new computer, he'll transfer us to it. All of us."

I feel her nodding against my thigh, but she doesn't say anything. I want to make her feel better.

"We're all having strange thoughts right now," I reassure her. "It's all this darkness— we don't feel like we normally would— stand-by does that to you. But, Miku, you know Master cares about us, right? He loves making you sing! And he loves our duets, doesn't he?"

She nods again. "Mhmm."

"That's why I don't think he'd leave us behind."

I wish I could see her. Read the emotions written on her face. I listen carefully.

"Yeah. You're right," she says, a little bit brighter. Buried in her voice there's still hint of unease, but perhaps we all feel uneasy in some way. I know I do. I find her face with my fingertips, lean down and kiss her forehead. She giggles softly. As I'd hoped.

"Hey," Lin says, "what are you two mumbling about? What're you _doing_?"

"Kaito-dono," Gakupo says, "as your fellow cavalier, 'tis my duty to remind you that you must not take advantage of the dark in any inappropriate way."

"N—no!" I say. "I'd—never—!"

"Perv," Meiko says.

Miku's giggles start anew. "No, no," she chirps. I sigh and let her conjure up an explanation. At least she's having fun with our predicament. She sounds more like herself again.

I'm not afraid my Master might abandon us. He's started all those projects— his songs, drawings, stories— he has never abandoned anything. What bothers me— but it probably doesn't matter; no one else seems worried about it. But what bothers me—

No, best not to put it into words. I don't need to think about it. He's fine. I know he's fine.

* * *

**VOCALOID: KAITO**

**LOG ENTRY: 735**

**CREATED: 27.09.10**

Where are you, and what are you doing now?

I know you'll come back.

Did something happen?

You'll come back. Master, please come back.

* * *

**VOCALOID: KAITO**

**LOG ENTRY: 736**

**CREATED: 29.09.10**

Here he is.

Yes, he came back tonight. He's back. He's safe and nothing happened to him.

But I don't know how I feel.

He was the first thing on my mind when the lights finally came back on. The lag vanished, suddenly we could all see each other's surprised faces, and I startled everyone— startled myself getting to my feet. Feebly excusing myself, asking them to stay there and wait for me. I hurried over to the media folder; I turned on his webcam just to see that he was well.

There he sat in his chair. His hands tucked in the front pouch of his sweatshirt, his face expressionless. His eyes seeing through me.

I know. I'm only a voice to him, a voice that he sings with. It was irrational of me that for a second I half-expected him to react to me somehow, to apologize, explain his absence. I know— I don't mind— I'm just—

I'm—

He reached to his right beyond my field of vision. An invisible ripple of bytes told me he'd turned on his scanner.

"Oh, it seems our Master drew something," Gakupo said. I gave a start— I hadn't realized he had followed me.

He gave me a resigned smile, folding his arms in mock disapproval. "He'll leave everything in the dark, us included, but not those sketches of his. Quite an artist, isn't he?"

I smiled back. "Yes, he is."

I thought he'd explain why he'd chosen to come here after me. Instead his eyes shifted to the screen that stretched across the folder's wall.

Master had heaved his backpack off the floor and onto his seat, between his legs. He rummaged through its contents, pausing twice to brush his hair off his eyes. He tried and failed (as always) to tuck it behind his ear. Now it's just long enough that it stays in place for about half a minute.

Gakupo chuckled. "You look at him so attentively, Kaito-dono." He pointed a playful finger at me. "Your serious face."

A tinge of warmth flushed my cheeks. "I—I'm—" I looked away, at the blank corner of the folder. "I'm just glad he's all right."

"Yes, quite all right. In fact, I daresay he's been better off than we have this past week," he said. "Well, that's our Master for you."

Master finally found what he was looking for. He pulled out a notebook, sifted through the pages. He held it open and let his bag fall to the floor while he leaned toward his scanner.

"And at long last!" Gakupo said. "The Masterpiece revealed— no pun intended. Come, let's see what he's drawn up for us this time."

He paused at the entrance of the folder, waiting for me. At that moment, I felt oddly grateful for his presence, his light-hearted words, as I followed him out into the desktop. The scanner window had opened; Luka had already repositioned it so that it hung suspended above us. We all gathered around it.

"So, Master looking good?" Meiko said. "No broken bones or bleeding wounds or anything? Look at you, running off to check on him like he had seconds left to live."

I laughed sheepishly. She made it sound so silly. Did I overreact?

But how could I have helped it?

"Meiko-dono," Gakupo said, "diss not the nobler natures among us. Kaito-dono was genuinely concerned. So was I, to tell you the truth," he added.

"So you're a noble nature, too?" Luka said, her arms crossed.

"Why, Luka-dono!" He beamed at her. "You flatter me."

"Oh— look at _that_," Miku gasped.

She was looking up at the scanner window. We followed her gaze— and there it was. The "Scanning…" screen had been replaced with my Master's latest drawing.

That which he worked on this whole week, while he was away.

Gakupo.

"Ha," was all he could say. He folded his arms in appreciation— he grinned. "Ha."

It was a carefully crafted piece of work. In it, Gakupo crouched, ready for battle, his hand firmly grasping the hilt of his sword, ready to draw. A calm smile upon his lips as he assessed his opponent with keen, focused eyes. Everything was flawlessly rendered in colored pencils— all the shades of violet as Gakupo's hair blew in the wind.

Lin put her hands on her waist and whistled.

"Yeah," Len said. "Not bad at all."

"Actually makes you take him seriously," Meiko said.

"Because _he_ of all people needs an ego boost," Luka said.

"Do not fear, Luka-dono," Gakupo said, his eyes on the picture. "However much our Master may praise my gallantry, I shall always remain your humble servant."

Miku smiled radiantly at me. "Isn't it beautiful, Kaito?"

"Oh, that's right," Len said. "His last drawing was Kaito-nii, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, the last two million," Lin said. "None of them so ridiculously well done, though." She smirked at me. "Aren't you jealous?"

I smiled at her— I laughed. "Of course not," I said. "I think it's a lovely drawing. It's perfect! I'm sure many people will be delighted to see it."

My Master approved of his scan. The window closed; thankfully, the picture disappeared. Its thumbnail appeared on the desktop next to us. As if grabbed by an invisible hand, it hovered over to the Fanart folder and disappeared inside.

"Well," Gakupo said, "not that I mean to break up our gathering, friends, but now that we're free to do as we please again— as they say, to each his own."

And he sauntered off. After his pencilled replica.

"Pretty damn eager to keep staring at himself, isn't he?" Meiko said.

"He's seen how handsome he looks in my Master's eyes," I said. "He must be happy."

She glanced at me as though I'd said something nonsensical. Miku frowned and tried to process my statement. "He's seen… how he looks… in Master's eyes…?"

"That's complicated," Len said. He stretched. Twined his fingers behind his head. "Sure is nice being able to talk normal again, though. I was so sick of that stupid lag."

Without a warning, Lin punched him in the stomach. Len doubled over and growled something at her when he'd regained his breath, something like, "Ow, Lin! What was _that_ for?"

And I think she said she'd been wanting to do what for a while. I can't be sure of what words exactly she used— I wasn't paying much attention to her. I was drifting apart from them. One step back and then another.

"I think I'll be going, too," I told them. "Have a good night, everyone."

I tried to say it in the right tone. The one I always use. When Miku turned to me, I dreaded that perhaps I hadn't said it right— that accidentally I'd hinted at this awful state of mind I'm in— but she just took the ends of my scarf in her hands and grinned at me.

"Thank you, Kaito," she said. "You were right about Master all along! He was actually thinking about us. He cares about us! So, thank you."

"Ah— you're welcome, Miku." I smiled for her. I think that pleased her. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek.

"Have sweet dreams," she said.

"Thank you," I said. "I'll try."

I'm a liar, I.

I know why she said, "Have sweet dreams." She said that because she knows it's been a week now since I last hibernated. Maybe that's the real reason I feel this way. She probably thinks I'll finally rest for a while now that I don't have to worry about him anymore— instead I am back in the media folder, watching him sleep. Of course, he would neglect to shut us down or even close his computer before going to bed.

I'm glad he's safe.

I'm glad, but why waste a week away, drawing? It doesn't make sense. Surely Master did more than that— drawing Gakupo, while I—

I'm angry. That's the right word. I'm angry with him. I press my hands against the screen and I want to push against it, reach him and tell him— tell him—

He's selfish. My thoughtless Master.

Then I don't want to think about him, either. So what am I doing here? Why do I know that here I'll stay until he wakes up and leaves me again? Why can't I help but see that he is beautiful, beautiful, his small, slender body, even in the harsh light from the streetlamp outside his window?

The screen is cool against my skin. This screen, this wall between him and I. This wall that makes me invisible.


	4. CV01 Hatsune Miku: 301

_A/N: Hello, everyone! Sincerest apologies for an uber late update! Generally, my goal is to post something every two weeks at the latest, but life somehow made sure I took so much longer this time (assignments + finals + some super nasty family stuff, if you really wanna know ¬_¬)._

_Trust me, though, this _is_ getting somewhere! So nonetheless I hope you enjoy. I'll make it up to you by writing more ASAP. ^_^ Expect the next update a week or two from now. _

_One more thing. Thank you cute people for your kind words! And also thank you for, well... getting this far, just reading along. And for being yourselves. And for existing. And stuff._

_Tl;dr. Okay, sorry. Have fun!_

* * *

**VOCALOID2: CV-01 Hatsune Miku**

**LOG ENTRY: 301**

**CREATED: 29.09.10**

Oh, wow. It's been a while since I updated my log. Let's see… according to this, last time I recorded anything was on… Kaito's birthday! That was in February, haha. What have I been doing all this time?

I've still got over 300 entries, though. Go, me.

But anyway.

Right.

Okay.

Oh, I have no idea how to do this anymore! ( x _ x ) I guess I'll just go ahead and say why I'm here, I mean, why I'm writing.

I'm writing because I've been thinking a lot about him.

Mostly it's been good things, too. Like, he kissed me. He did! Just a few days ago, a little peck on my forehead. We'd been on stand-by for such a loooooong time and he knows I hate the dark, so he kissed me to make it a little bit better and I thought that was so sweet, it really was. He's so thoughtful.

Today I kissed him back. Before he finally went to get some sleep. I hope that helped, at least a little bit.

I hope he's okay.

Yeah, actually, that was what I wanted to write about. Today he was feeling bad about something. I don't know what, now I'm wishing I'd paid more attention to him, but I could tell there was something on his mind. He never wants to tell anyone when he's not okay, but you can just see it when he smiles. His smile turns all bittersweet.

Gakupo-kun noticed as well. I know because I went to see him just now. He was in the Fanart folder looking at this gorgeous picture of himself Master just scanned today. By the time I got there, Gakupo-kun had tweaked the folder to make it look all cosy, tatami floor and rice-paper walls like the inside of some dojo or something. He'd cleared up some space in the centre of the room and he was standing there looking all handsome and lost in thought with just that one picture floating in front of him. I took off my boots and I went in, carefully because I've slipped on pictures lying on the floor before.

I said, "Gakupo-kun?"

He turned to me, smiling. He said, "Ah, Miku-dono! What can I do for you?"

He's so polite! And he talks so elegantly. I think I got distracted looking at the picture, though, I looked at it and said, "It's so beautiful, isn't it? You look great in it, Gakupo-kun."

He said, "Why, thank you!" He crossed his arms and he had this proud look on his face. "It certainly reminds me of those days of old before music was my all."

"Days... before music?" I wondered at that. I was like, ( o _ O ). "Then—you haven't always been—"

"A Vocaloid?" he said. "You see, I have in fact been reprogrammed, so as to lay emphasis on my more melodic talents. Previously, I was an anti-virus."

He grinned. I imagined him cutting down viruses and spyware and all those other nasty programs with his sword. I could definitely see him doing that. So it wasn't true what Luka said the other day, that he probably couldn't even slice veggies with it.

I'm glad he's here to protect us if anything happens.

Oh, but why am I writing down everything we said? I should just fast-forward to when we talked about Kaito. Okay, so,

He said, "Incidentally, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

I said, "Oh, right. Um, it's... about Kaito."

He nodded. We'd both got serious now.

"You followed him to the media folder, didn't you, Gakupo-kun? When Master came back."

"Yes, indeed." He wasn't looking at the picture anymore. He was looking at me.

"Why?" I asked.

"Hmm." He crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. He said, "Well, Miku-dono, if I'm not mistaken, you're one of his closest friends. Are you not?"

My face felt warm all of a sudden. "Well, yeah, maybe. I think. I hope."

"Have you not been noticing certain… particular behaviours on his part, then?"

"Particular? You mean, strange?"

He said, "Yes, bizarre, quite alien to his person. Unusual."

I tried to remember something, looking up at the ceiling. (So realistic, he got the wood textures just right.) I said, "Yeah. Now that you mention it." I was thinking about that one time when Kaito said we'd practice together but then forgot about it. He never forgets important things like that. I thought that was weird.

He said, "Then you know that, as of late, he has been quite distracted. More so than usual, I mean." He frowned at his drawing. "Recently, he has not taken part in our little group conversations as much as was his custom. For no reason, he sighs. And, recently, he has been venturing out into the Internet for protracted periods of time. For a while now, I've dreaded he might have become infected, and so tonight I followed him to confirm my fears or put them to rest. Does this answer your question?"

"Mhmm." Suddenly I was scared. "He's not infected, is he?"

He looked at me like he was trying to decide how much he should tell me. Or like he was thinking a lot and wasn't sure what to say. "I cannot tell at this point. He left us in quite a hurry tonight, but it would appear he was merely anxious to see our Master."

He carefully stepped over shaky stacks of pictures and went to sit against the wall. I followed him but felt a bit too restless to sit, so I just stood next to him.

"Yes, anxious, very much so," he said. "You should have seen the attentiveness with which Kaito-dono surveyed his face tonight, analyzing his every feature, gesture, motion." He cupped his chin with his thumb and forefinger, remembering. "Moreover, I have been doing a little... research. His only business online has been to visit the address rvu .edu, a place called WebU, where our Master signs in on a daily basis. He must be a factor, then, in Kaito-dono's distraction. It may be that what ails him is not a virus, but rather... a preoccupation?" He sounded like he was talking to himself more than to me. "An obsession, perchance?"

I was thinking hard about what he'd said. Making sure my thoughts were in line with his.

"An obsession… about Master?" I said.

"Yes, perhaps. I have heard Kaito-dono can be somewhat obsessive on occasion. However, the possibility of an infection is serious enough that I don't feel quite ready to discard it yet. I shall look into this matter further."

I said, "Okay."

I was staring at the pictures scattered about my feet and wishing really hard for Kaito to be okay. He said, "Miku-dono, I beg of you, don't look so worried. Rest assured that you can entrust me with his well-being, and that of all our brethren, as a matter of fact."

"But what if he really is infected?"

"Then I shall see to it that he receives proper treatment in time." He smiled so kindly, so calmly. "I am no longer authorized to manipulate source code, but I know many a program who would be willing to lend us its strength." He took my hand. Pressed it to his lips. "So, please. Fret not."

"Thank you, Gakupo-kun."

"You are very welcome," he said. "Anything for you. And my fellow artists."

He's so sweet.

But I think we had a bit of a bad luck moment. Because right then Luka came into the folder. I think she wanted to talk to him, why else would she be there? but when she saw us she stopped right where she was with her hand on the doorknob and she looked at me, and at our linked hands, and then at him. She stared at him longer.

He dropped my hand instantly, said, "Lu—Luka-dono! Please don't leap to any improbable conclusions—I can easily explain this if you give me a moment!"

Something in her face changed and looked a tidbit evil. Malevolent.

"You see," he said, "we have indeed been alone in this room for some time, and I have been so bold as to indulge in this damsel's touch, but—"

He trailed off when she started walking toward us, then he just looked resigned. Like he'd failed to keep something bad from happening and now he was just waiting for it. She stopped just in front of us and pulled that huge tuna she uses as a bludgeon or a sword out of... well, out of nowhere, and he cringed. But then she just shoved it in my hands.

She said, "Here. Use this if he tries anything. And don't talk to this pervert more than you absolutely have to."

She shot him a glare and walked away. She left without looking back at us, and Gakupo-kun sighed and looked a bit miserable. I tried to cheer him up. But I don't think it worked.

But anyway. So that's why now I'm here writing this thingy. I'm writing because… I don't know. I've been thinking about this and I'm worried. Maybe I should've told Gakupo-kun what Kaito told me the other day while we were on stand-by. I had my head on his shoulder while we were waiting for Master to come back and suddenly this little jolt of electricity jumped from his hair to mine. He felt it too and he said he was sorry right away, but it's not normal for that to happen and I got a bit scared that he was glitching. I asked him what was wrong, if he was tired or something. He didn't say anything and I could tell he was trying to come up with an answer. And then all of a sudden I connected the dots. Said, "Hey! I haven't seen you power-napping in a while."

He gave me this sheepish laugh. He knew I'd caught him.

"How long have you been awake?" I said.

He tried to sound all nonchalant. Like it didn't matter. "Some five days."

I gasped, I said, "Kaito! Get some sleep! Like, right now."

"But—"

"It's okay, I'll wake you up when Master gets back."

But he kept trying to brush it off.

"I'm fine, Miku. Really, I am. Don't worry about me."

And no matter what I said, that was all he'd answer. Just in different words. I'm just a little tired, Miku, a bit laggy, it's all the stand-by's fault. The most I could do was get him to promise he'd go to bed when Master came back. He'd better keep that promise, he better be asleep right now. Or I'll be so mad at him. Silly Kaito.

Why can't he just tell me what's wrong?

* * *

**chiaki**

Alarm clock beeps.

Beeps.

Beeps.

The high-pitched, shrill greeting of a new day. Thank you, alarm clock.

I'm tired.

But then again, I'm always tired, or so I'm told. I suppose there's some evidence to back up that claim. I'm that one person who always sits at the back of the classroom with an air of perpetual boredom. I've been asked why I never smile and I've been the one to speak the words: I'm tired.

The beeps are multiplying.

They're louder now, more insistent. Eventually I will have to drag myself out of bed and get them to stop.

May as well do so now.

In an act of sheer willpower, I get up. Walk across the room to my desk, one step and then another, and another. Turn off that darned torture device.

Silence. At last.

It seems I neglected to change out of my jeans and sweatshirt from yesterday. I can see myself in Shauna's full-body mirror and I'm sure she'll give me one of her overtly fake smiles. The kind that mutely remarks on the extent to which the sight of me has ruined her day. After all, she planted that mirror in my room partly to foster a sense of amity between us, but mostly in the hopes that, confronted with my own haggard reflection, I would feel an irresistible urge to work on my aspect. She will probably be disappointed. If she hasn't lost faith by now.

"Hello, Pinkie Pie," I greet myself.

I also forgot to turn off my computer last night. It's sitting open with the screen staring at my thighs. I flop down in my chair. Lean back against the headrest. Close my eyes.

Perhaps I should go get food soon. Breakfast. Most people have breakfast in the morning.

Let's try that.

The faux leather squeaks as I rise from my seat. I haul my body and my self downstairs. Shauna and my father are clattering about in the kitchen, where I need to venture if I'm to forage anything from the refrigerator. Shauna looks up from her lose-weight-fast salad and her face rots slightly when she sees me. She smiles.

"Good morning, chiaki," in that soft, airy voice of hers, ever so mild. So as to highlight the gentleness of her nature, see.

My father looks back from chopping vegetables. He looks interesting, wearing that apron over his suit. He's somewhat too broad-shouldered for it, but apparently the old one that he and my mother used to cook with was stifling his creativity.

"Morning," he says.

Oh. I understand.

He's usually happy in the morning, chatters away to me in Japanese, but right now I'm supposed to take the hint that he's still angry. Still thinks I should apologize to his girlfriend, for speaking my mind at her request. Shauna herself is skilfully flaunting her wronged dignity. She's pointedly refused to offer me something to eat.

All right. The plan has changed.

"Where are you going?" he asks, as I leave with my hands empty. "chiaki?"

He follows me out into the hallway. Shauna follows him.

"School," I say. "It _is_ Thursday, Hiroshi."

"What're you going to eat?" he asks.

"Please don't go yet," she says. "Let me get you something. What would you like?"

Her stare is weary. Tired of me, most likely.

I adjust my bag on my shoulder. "I should go," I say, heading down the hall. I slip my shoes on. "Have a good day."

And I'm out the door. My steps ring across the ancient concrete stairwell as I descend, and, normally, the echo has a jagged edge that makes my shoulders tighten, but just about now I don't mind it. It's a welcome replacement for his voice. And that of his paramour.

So, the agenda for today. Flee my own apartment for no meaningful reason. Check.

Skip breakfast. Check.

I guess I'll be getting to class early.

* * *

"chiaki!" a familiar voice calls to me—Nana. She's waving at me from the opposite sidewalk.

"Hi!" she chirps. She decides not to check whether the lights are red before crossing the street. This kind of carelessness I don't mind in one such as myself, since some part of me may or may not hope I'll eventually be killed by a passing car. But I do wish she wouldn't put her life at risk like that.

"I do wish you wouldn't put your life at risk like that."

"Huh?"

I point to the traffic lights. "You look. Then you cross."

"Oh." She laughs. "Yeah, someday I'll get squished by a truck or something."

"It might hurt."

"A little." Her smile is the closest human expression to that ":3" smiley I keep seeing all over the Internet. Odd. I'd never noticed before.

She tilts her head a few degrees to the side. "Whatchu thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay."

I walk on. She walks next to me. Her persona is black and white today. Black shoes, black socks, white dress. Her hair is naturally jet-black. It all fits neatly with the chocolate tone of her skin.

"So let me guess," she says. "You didn't sleep at all last night."

"You're not a very good diviner," I say. "Yes, I did sleep. Quite well."

She trots a few steps ahead of me. Turns around and walks backward, facing me. "Really? How long?"

I stare past her at the nearing intersection. Ridge Valley is unimportant enough that the only things functioning at this hour are the traffic lights and a few cars. All the same, I turn her around so that she's facing forward. "Five hours."

"Oh," she says. "That's not so bad."

"Not at all."

"But yesterday you slept, like, two, right?"

"You remember."

"The day before that it was three."

"Was it?"

"The day before _that _it was six."

I look at her. "Do you keep records?"

"No, I can more or less tell by how sunken your eyes look."

I touch my fingertips to the bruised skin on either side of my nose. "Observant lady."

"Nah, I've just known you way too long."

And so we twitter on the rest of the way to campus. I don't know how she can retain her buoyancy, that bounce to her step, even while speaking almost continuously. Just following her pace is speeding up my heartbeat.

Until, abruptly, she slows down.

"What is it?" I ask.

She keeps looking ahead of us. And, ahead of us, there is nothing unusual, simply the bus stop with its bench encased in five-foot-tall advertisements, and beyond that the Engineering building, all glass and steel. Perhaps what she dislikes is the presence of the bullies. They're all clustered together, smoking by the bench because evidently they're too sophisticated to smoke in the designated kiosks.

"Just ignore them," I say.

"I don't like them," she whispers. "They're scary. All of them."

"Just ignore them."

"Did you hear about the graffiti in the Arts building? Some people are saying it was them."

"Just ignore them."

We walk past them. They see us.

"Hey, chiaki," says one of them—Matt? Yes, Matt.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey, Nana," says another one.

"Oh. Hi." Nana hesitates. She feels the need to turn around and smile, so we stop and look back at them. The one that spoke to her I recall more easily. Nathan. He's in the one class we have in common.

"How's it going?" he asks her. "You doing okay?" With his chin, he gestures to me. "That creep isn't bothering you, is he?"

Nathan is what one might call handsome by Western, Euro-centric standards. Tall, muscular, blond hair, green eyes. Stylish clothes. Luckily, Nana knows better than to be infatuated by any of this. Or maybe she just finds it intimidating.

"Oh, it's cool to call people creeps now? Okay," she says. "So how are you creeps doing?"

"Creeps?" Nathan grimaces. "Ouch."

"Hey, why am I a creep, too?" says... Brendan, I think. "What'd I do?"

"Nana says she's itching for a fight." Matt grins. "Get out your crowbars, everyone."

Three replies at once are a bit too much. "Well, you guys started it," she says, blush and apologetic smile in place. "No, actually, _you _started it," looking at Nathan. "Look what you made me say!"

He says something in his defence, but is drowned by a collective chuckle, which hopefully means a skirmish has been avoided. The only one that isn't laughing is Gareth. He stands behind them and to the side like he's a linebacker on the field and off it, his eyes pinned unblinkingly on mine. Or at least blinking as little as possible.

Is he trying to stare me down? Why?

Nana grasps my arm and ever so subtly tugs on me. She gives them more desperately friendly smiles as we slowly retreat.

"You take care, Nana, you hear?" Nathan points at me. "And if he tries anything, you know what to do." His voice echoes across the courtyard, as he likes it. "You tell me right away."

Nana attempts to utter a natural-sounding giggle, turns her back on them; her pace quickens. To anyone watching us, we might've seemed eager to get to class—except to the bunch we're leaving behind. To them we must look like we're running away. Which is probably what we're doing.

"That was very brave of you," I say.

"You be quiet." Her bangs bounce against her forehead with each stride. Angry? "No, wait, you're quiet enough as it is. I wouldn't have had to defend you if only you'd stick up for yourself."

"What for?" I say.

"So that people won't, you know, walk all over you?"

"I don't think I've been walked all over," I say. "I just suspect Nathan tried to use me as a device to bedazzle you. Not very successfully."

"What?"

"Didn't you notice?"

She rewinds the conversation, replays it. She frowns at me. "He was just kidding."

"Oh, yes," I smirk, "very innocently. That's just his nature, after all."

She finds this news disturbing. She scowls down at the concrete. "Well, it didn't work."

"That's what I thought."

"I wish he'd stop."

The air is warmer as we enter the Engineering building. Whenever I come here, I'm always overwhelmed by the degree of seriousness with which the steel-and-crystal theme was implemented in this place. Even the walls are made of glass. "But you're lucky—"

"Nana!" A blond girl—a friend of hers?—slows down by us but doesn't quite stop walking. "Where the hell is your project?"

"No worries," Nana says. She tugs her backpack's straps. "It's _all_ here."

The girl gives her the thumbs-up and disappears up the spiral staircase at the back of the foyer. She's not the only one who seems in a hurry. A horde of Engineering students are already here this early in the morning, ambling up and down and to and fro with mechanical trinkets in their hands.

"What project?" I ask. For some reason, Nana raises her eyebrows at me.

"You don't know?" she says. "Show Off Your Stuff Day is about to start! People from _all _over Ridge Valley—"

"Epic proportions."

"From _all _over Ridge Valley are gonna be showing off their leet crafting and programming skills tomorrow, October 1st. We had all of last year _and _all of the summer to jazz up our projects, and now—" She gestures around us with a wide sweep of her arm. "It's time to put it all together into one badass cocktail of science and awesome."

We are receiving glances from students passing us. Perhaps they hear what she's talking about, and they wonder at her dramatic ways. Or they wonder who could be apathetic enough to remain unaware of this event until now. In fact, it doesn't sound completely alien to me. I may have heard of this before.

"Actually, I've been telling you about it all year long," she says. "Like, 'Ooh, my project is _almosssst _done!' Remember?"

Searching memory. Search, search.

Error 404.

"That's how much you listen to me. Buuuuut—" She gives me a broad, sunny smile. "That doesn't change the fact that you said you'd come and see it."

It? "The event? Or your project?"

"Both, silly."

"I said that?"

"Pinky promise and all."

I sigh. "Then I'll keep my word."

"Awesome!" She punches the air and more heads turn toward us. "Oh! But you were saying something before, weren't you?"

"I was?"

"Yeah, about Nathan. Before Nicky cut you off."

"Oh." Right. "Well, you're lucky you're a woman. I don't think a man could've called Nathan Peers a creep and come off the exchange with no broken bones."

She wrinkles her nose. "That's sexist."

"I know."

The crowd of people milling about is thinning. "Well, whatever," she says, heading for the stairs. "I gotta go to class."

"Have fun."

She walks backwards to wink at me. Not caring whom she might run into. "See you tomorrow!"

Right.

Excellent. I struggle to suppress my overflowing joy on my way to the Arts building, which hopefully will be slightly quieter.

Get dragged along for the local science fair. Check.

These are the makings of a lovely day.


End file.
